Vale
by Thobbit
Summary: When Dolores Landingham visited Jed at the LSE once, she met a most mysterious man with a fantastic blue box. They had some adventures together. Then she went home, and left it all behind. Until one day, he came to visit. She had just gotten a new car.


_A/N: I don't care if for a moment we saw Jed talking to an empty room. This is what really happened. During "Two Cathedrals" and "The End of Time (Part 2)" respectively. Enjoy!_

-{+}-

**Vale**

Mrs. Dolores Landingham smiled as she navigated her new car through the crowded DC streets. Whatever chemicals they treated the dashboard with smelled fine to her, a heady cocktail of cleaning fluids that danced on the edge of too strong. The seat, cover still soft and undirtied, was bit stiff, not yet broken in, but she had to admit the engine responded to the pedals and wheel far more quickly than any one of Henry's Ol' Reliable's.

She was making the turn onto C St. when she heard the noise. It was a familiar sound, but she hadn't heard it for so long her first thought was that she'd imagined it. Then it came again, slightly louder, the groaning she hadn't heard for over forty years. In a second, Dolores had switched turn signals and wheeled left, away from the White House. Somebody honked, but she ignored them, concentrating on her hearing. The sound came again, and she followed it, turning into a small alley she wasn't sure she'd ever seen.

At the far end of the alley, a man was leaning against a British police call box, the sort Dolores hadn't seen since visiting Jed in London. Even then, they'd been outdated. The sight was achingly familiar.

The man, however, was not. He was tall, tall enough to look down on CJ, and so skinny, the sort of skinny that prompted a deep maternal part of Dolores to feed him a large dinner and put him to bed. It didn't help that he was young, too, far younger than she was now. Sam's age, maybe. His hair was certainly in the modern gelled-up style, she noticed disapprovingly.

By now, Dolores had gotten out of her car and walked halfway down the alley. The instant she was within polite speaking distance, she said, "Good evening. Who are you?" She knew the box but not the man, and experience had taught her it was best to be cautious. There were all sorts of people in the universe, and a great many of them would kill to get their hands on this police box. She had seen some of them do just that.

"Hello, Dolores," the young man replied quietly. He grimaced a moment, and glanced down at his hand, as if expecting it to suddenly become a claw. When he looked up their eyes met, and Dolores let out a small gasp. Though different in shape and color, they were just as she remembered, wells of memory glowing with some internal fire, and deeper, she had often thought, than the Time of which they had seen so much.

"Doctor?" she asked, almost hesitantly. It felt strange; she hadn't been hesitant in so long.

"Yes," he said simply, confirming and reassuring. "Come in." He pushed open the door to what she now let herself believe was the Tardis. Determinedly she went in, and he followed, closing the door behind them.

It was different than Dolores remembered, just as big but far more colorful. Gone were the stark whiteness and blocky console. In their place, coral-shaped arches stretched to the invisible ceiling and honeycomb walls, and the central column's moving light radiated a calming blue-green.

"You changed it," she said accusingly to the Doctor, now leaning on the inside of the door. He was trying to look casual, but Dolores had seen enough young men in pain to know the truth. Suddenly he lurched forward, gripping his chest. Dolores hurried to catch him.

"You changed yourself, for that matter," she said more gently, lowering his body to a seat on the wire mesh floor. He grimaced again, and squeezed his eyes shut, though not before Dolores saw them glowing gold. "What happened?" she asked worriedly. "Are you–" she searched her aging memory for long-forgotten scraps of conversation. "Did you regenerate? Has it gone wrong? I can call someone–" She stopped, aware of the absurdity of that statement. No Secret Service agent would understand this; even Abby couldn't do dual-cardiac surgery.

"Sort of," he said, pushing himself to his feet. He stepped awkwardly to the central console and propped one hip on it, affecting a jaunty air. She mirrored his position, noting how much harder it was after forty plus years and one hip surgery.

"What happened to that smoking jacket you had?" she asked, trying for a lighter tone. "With all those ridiculous ruffles?"

He looked slightly insulted. "Those were great ruffles!" he said indignantly. Then his face sobered again.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Dolores asked. Something had to be wrong, if he was here. Or something was about to go wrong.

"No, nothing," he insisted unconvincingly. "Well, nothing like that. No aliens. I'm just visiting."

"No aliens then, except you, so why are you hurt?"

"I told you, I'm visiting. I'm visiting everyone. Everyone I used to know." He paused.

"And?" she prompted.

"And I need you to talk to President Bartlett. You need to convince him to run again."

She nodded. "Of course I will. I was going to talk to him anyway. Jed can make up his own mind, but sometimes he wants prodding."

"Yes, but he'll need a bit more than usual just now." The Doctor cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Dolores–" He rubbed his face with his hands. "You know how some people say, when you have to tell someone bad news, it's best to work up to it slowly?"

"Doctor, what is it?" She was getting worried now. Another apocalypse? Invasion?

He looked down at his hands again, then up at her. "Dolores, President Bartlett–Jed–he has MS. Multiple sclerosis. And he's about to announce it on national television."

"Oh, is that all?" she asked, relieved.

The Doctor's eyebrows jumped, surprised.

"You thought I didn't know? Jed thinks I don't know, but I do. You think Zoey would tell Charlie and not me? And Ellie told me before that, and before her, Liz. The only thing you just told me is why Josh, Toby, Sam and CJ have been jumping at every twig crack the last couple days."

"You have twigs in the White House?" he asked curiously. She shot him a withering glare.

"But why do you need to take me now?" Dolores inquired. "I was just going back to the White House to show him my new car." A bit of pride leaked into her voice.

"Because there's more. Because––" He seemed to be trying to look at anything but her face.

Dolores waited patiently. Experience had taught her that people always eventually came out with it.

"Because you're going to be in a car crash," said the Doctor. "You're going to be...hurt, soon, but I still need you to do this now. History will be a lot better if he gets two terms."

She didn't blink. "Of course it will. Jed is one of the finest Presidents we've had." The fierce pride was clear this time. "And I've been through worse than a car crash with you, Doctor."

The Doctor smiled sadly. "Won't argue with that." He hopped gingerly off the console and flipped a lever. The Tardis started shaking and, with the old familiar groaning noise, left Dolores' new car alone in the alley.

They materialized in the Oval Office Antechamber, right in front of Dolores's desk. She stepped out of the TARDIS and looked around. Everything was as she had left it, which made sense––they were a day into the future, at most.

Suddenly, a crash from the next room. Sounded like that old door again, slamming in the storm.

"Mrs. Landingham!" came the usual call. She turned back to the TARDIS and shot a questioning look through the open door. The Doctor waved her towards the Office. She went in.

"I really wish you wouldn't shout, Mr. President," she said, crossing to where Jed was standing by the desk.

He turned and stared at her. There was disbelief in his eyes, and hope, despair, indecision...she waited patiently for him to say what was the matter.

"The door keeps blowin' open," he complained.

"Yes, but there's an intercom and you could use it to call me at my desk," she chided gently. Still the little boy she'd met back in New Hampshire, deeply in need of an older sister.

He glanced back at the Resolute Desk. "I was––"

She smiled. He always acted like she'd caught him at the cookie jar. "You don't know how to use the intercom."

"It's not that I don't know how to use it. It's just that I haven't learned yet." Old routines, perfected by years of practice. But tonight the words took on some new meaning, one Dolores wasn't quite certain she understood. Didn't matter to her, though. Jed would analyze his own words.

He shifted, looked down at his feet, then back up at her. "I have MS and I didn't tell anybody." A simple declaration, but she could see the courage underneath.

"Yeah." She felt the smile slip from her face, and hurriedly pinned it back on. "So you're having a little bit of a day."

He was deadpan. "You're gonna make jokes?"

She let the smile fall. Time to go shoot for the problem. "God doesn't make cars crash and you know it. Stop using me as an excuse."

Jed frowned at his feet, sadder than she'd seen him even back when Leo was at his worst. He turned, and sat in a chair. "Party's not going to want me to run."

"Party'll come back. You'll get 'em back."

He looked up. "I've got news for you, Mrs. Landingham," he said, slipping toward joking-lecture mode. That was promising. "I've never been the most popular guy in the Democratic Party."

"I've got a secret for you, Mr. President," she replied. perching on the chair opposite him. They were always too cushy for her to sink into, or get out of, with her tired old joints. "Your father was a prick who could never get over the fact that he wasn't as smart as his brothers." (She remembered Jed's uncles––always joking and smart as whips. They'd both passed on over two decades ago.)

Jed's eyes flicked guiltily to his feet again, then back up at her. Of course he knew this, and didn't like to think about it.

"Are you in a tough spot?" she began. "Yes. Do I feel sorry for you?" Yes. "Absolutely not. Why? Because there are people way worse off than you."

She paused, waiting, as he nodded slowly. Then quietly, almost challengingly: "Give me numbers."

She grinned to herself, but challenged right back, "I don't know numbers. You give them to me."

He stared at nothing. "How 'bout a child born this minute has a one in five chance of being born into poverty."

It was just like debate drilling, that first time he ran for governor.

"How many Americans don't have health insurance?"

"44 million."

"What's the number one cause of death for black men under 35?"

"Homicide."

"How many Americans are behind bars?"

"Three million."

"And how many Americans are drug addicts?"

"Five million."

"And one in five kids in poverty?" That was always his favorite statistic. Always the father.

"That's 13 million American children. Three and a half million kids go to schools that are literally falling apart. We need 127 billion in school construction, and we need it today."

Dolores knew he could go on, but she didn't know how long she had. "To say nothing of 53 people trapped in an embassy." It was a gamble that they were still trapped, but she'd gambled worse.

"Yes." He was staring into space again. There was a pause, though the storm outside raged fierce as ever.

She interrupted his thoughts one more time. "You know, if you don't want to run again, I respect that."

Jed nodded. Of course he didn't want to run. He was tireder than she was, anyone could see that.

She pushed herself up from the chair. Damn old knees. "But if you don't run because you think it's gonna be too hard, or you're gonna lose––" she walked back towards the door––"well, God, Jed, I don't even wanna know you." She left him in the chair, shutting the door behind her.

She leaned against the closed Office door and looked around the little office she shared with Charlie, not really seeing anything. She remembered the last time she'd said that. It'd been so long, and they'd both been so young. He hadn't won that battle, but he'd learned from it, just like she had learned from her own adventures.

The Doctor beckoned her into the old blue box. "Look at this," he said, pressing a button on the scanner. The screen lit up, and she recognized the State Department Press Room.

"Is that...?"

"A tape," he answered. "His press conference, in about ten minutes."

She watched as CJ announced "the President of the United States" and Jed came on, looking damp. _Didn't bother to wear his coat in a downpour_, she scolded silently. Old habits died hard.

He looked across the crowd, and even through the slightly-fuzzy definition of the playback, she could read his troubled expression. Or maybe she just knew what his face would be looking like.

The question came, of course, first thing. He asked the reporter to repeat. He always loved dramatics, Jed did. The girl asked again. Jed took his hands off the podium and put them in his pockets. He shifted, looking into a distance no one else could see. He smiled.

Dolores reached out and flipped off the scanner. "He'll be fine," she answered the Doctor's questioning glance. He nodded, and pulled another lever. The raging storm hid the noise of the disappearing TARDIS.

It wasn't raining yet when they appeared back in the alley, though thunderclouds were massing on the horizon. The Doctor walked her back to her car. She could tell he was in pain, but didn't say anything.

"Good-bye, Dolores," he said, holding her door open like proper old gentleman. She supposed he was. "I hope I see you again."

She didn't trust herself to speak, just nodded her thanks. He closed the door and walked back to his big-little blue box. She watched him go with a sad smile, for days long gone.

The familiar old sound came as she was turning out of the alley, and she didn't need to look back to know that the box was gone, and wouldn't come back. She may not know the Doctor––did anyone, really?––but she could always read Jed like a book. What would Jed say, in this situation? Oh, of course, she knew that too. Latin was his language of choice for any important occasion.

"Vale," whispered Dolores, turning her brand-new car back onto C St. Her brand-new blue car, the exact same shade as the ancient blue box no longer in that alley. "Vale, Doctor."

She smiled wistfully, letting the traffic guide her toward 18th St. So many adventures, all her life, with every sort of person. They all seemed so long ago. It would be nice to see her boys again.


End file.
